Fare Thee Well, Sister
by Blackfire 18
Summary: Regan and Goneril have always fought bitterly for the prize. Regan is led astray by her eldest sister for a glass of tainted wine to calm her jittery nerves. She has more to fear than her enemies, a jealous sister can be much more dangerous to ones health


Fare Thee Well, Sister

**Disclaimer: I do not own King Lear--Shakespeare can take all that credit...or maybe what's left after everyone dies.**

The armor was wearing tight around Regan's shoulders and becoming annoyingly sticky with sweat. She never enjoyed the chill walls of the castle outpost near Dover, it was cramped and moist and smelled of mold. The family crest was fading on the worn tapestries and the family arms were rusting in their hangings. Dust layered any flat surface a nail high and choked any who breathed too deeply. Perhaps the castle's abandoned atmosphere was what unsettled her, or perhaps it was the distant march of French soldiers beyond the walls.

It wasn't like her to worry, but this was no trivial matter. She was dressed for war—she and her older sister, Goneril. They had come together to double their militia entourage for the war; a rare occasion in itself, for the sister's only ever joined forces to overpower their littlest sibling. Cordelia, their youngest sister, was coming with an army of troops and she was going to suffer an ejection of biblical proportion.

But even as Regan's mind whirred with battle tactics and the impending melee, she often found her thoughts wandering to the handsome Edmund. He would be there to fight alongside her and destroy their enemies, gold and silver armor glistening in the sun, his white horse rearing and his sword raised; then perhaps afterward, they would find an impassioned night together in a warm bed. It was this thought that kept Regan pressing onward…but…

And it was here Regan's eyes slid over to her elder sister, Goneril; who had not been very secretive about her own affections toward the illegitimate son. How dare she—she, who was still married to the healthy, upstanding Duke of Albany—seek designs after Edmund, while Regan, her own husband killed, deserved of Gloucester's son. Their rivalries ran deep, the two sisters, since they were children running about barefoot in the castle in their finest dresses to play games of war.

But this time it was no game. This war was real and it was indefinitely interlaced with the heated undercurrents for possession of the noble Edmund.

Only a night ago had she orchestrated a meeting with Edmund and demanded to know of his relations to her sister, as she was viciously wont to know. He swore upon his honor that his familiarity was strictly respectable with Goneril, as the older woman was still married, and he gave his full affections to Regan and none other. She had kissed him then, enjoying his taste of the woodlands and his musky scent of spices. His dark hair was soft beneath her fingers and she pressed closer to his hard body, wanting more of him. She was faintly aware of his arm curling around her lower back while his other hand played along her thigh. His touch sent shivers coursing up her spine and she moaned softly against his mouth.

But before the kiss could become more intimate, Edmund pushed her away. Confusion settled across her features a moment until she realized her older sister had entered on them. Goneril stared at Regan, her fiery gaze asphyxiating upon her red headed sibling and promising a reprimand akin to a vengeful archangel. Regan drew her eyes away first, her golden earrings tinkling softly in mock indifference; embarrassed for herself and Edmund for the premature exposing of their romantic entanglement. It had been a long time Regan had seen her sister so openly displeased; the intensity of Goneril's unspoken threat meant peril for her should her sister choose to act on her fury.

Regan's eyes widened imperceptibly as Goneril's head turned toward her—surely her sister could not read minds.

Her older sister, dark-skinned and dark-haired, encased in armor befitting a warrior Queen, strode imperiously toward Regan. The latter did her best to appear serene and not as harassed as she truly felt. The proud sheen of the older woman's durable armor suddenly made Regan feel horribly inadequate within her own sheet of dull mail.

"Sister," Goneril spoke in a warm, soft voice. "You look very pale, are you feeling ill?"

Regan was careful not to make her bristling posture apparent; it was unfair her sister could read her so easily.

"I'm just…concerned about the coming battle." Regan said smoothly with an elegant sweep of her hand.

"Oh my dear sister, there should be nothing to fear. We will be victorious over the French; of that I have no doubt." Goneril laid a hand on Regan's shoulder and Regan spited herself for feeling so comforted by the action. The elder woman smiled as she studied Regan's face and squeezed her shoulder. "Come, the battle begins soon. We must grant ourselves a ready charge; they wait for us at the camp. Cordelia has never defeated us and she never will."

The pair of them made their winding way down the castle steps to the field a league away from their joined armies. They mounted up and rode out to where tents rose out of the ground and hundreds of soldiers mulled about their business. The horses were taken when they dismounted to be properly armored. Regan turned about trying to locate Edmund, but it was a futile effort. She jumped suddenly when Goneril touched her arm.

"You are very tense, sister." She said. "Come, we shall have a drink to calm your nerves."

Regan felt a twist in her stomach, but the feeling disappeared in the next instant and she felt silly for being easily startled by a mere suggestion.

Goneril was tugging almost impatiently on Regan's arm and the younger woman numbly followed.

"Yes, something to calm my nerves."

The tent walls lining the field passed in a blur as Regan's mind raced furiously, something was amiss. Her sister was too eager, the battle was too close—and why were the walls moving so quickly? The jealousy over Edmunds attention burned in Regan's chest and she had known Goneril long enough to understand the lengths each of them would go to win the desired prize.

As children, when their father had bought them all horses, Regan and Goneril had fought bitterly over a magnificent thoroughbred with a black coat that shone sleek in the sun. They both tore at each other's hair and bit and clawed at faces as they squabbled in the mud. The king had never been more furious with them for such childish behavior and ruining their fine dresses. Regan felt a sickeningly sweet pride at the blood that ran over her sister's left eye from a gash above her eyebrow, though Goneril had succeeded in tearing a good portion of Regan's red hair from her head; and the feel of damp blood across her crown still haunted her.

They did not speak to each other for weeks, and as further punishment, their father gave the finest horse to their youngest sister, Cordelia. It was one of the rare times Regan and Goneril joined forces to deal out their fury at the stolen prize and Cordelia was no match for her older sisters. She was bedridden for five days when her older siblings were through.

And now again, the eldest children to the former king had found another prize horse to fight over. But now the tactics for this personal battle had changed; they were older, more cunning, more devious. And as Regan continued after the insistent tug of her sister, she could not dismiss the sinking feeling that she was a heifer being led to the slaughter.

"You're trembling," a voice said beyond her and Regan turned her gaze about until she saw her sister; concern was written across the latter's face. Regan swallowed.

"The battle," she offered meekly and Goneril lightly scolded her little sister for being silly and worrying herself to pieces.

"Come." Goneril said authoritatively. "This way."

She led Regan to a chair on the far side of the tent that housed whatever wines had been gathered in the hurry to mobilize the armies, and guided her to its seat. The seated woman stared blankly ahead. She was dimly aware of the clinking of bottles and glasses as Goneril went about her work, returning a moment later with two glasses filled with a blood red liquid. Regan accepted the wine offered her as Goneril raised her glass.

"To a glorious victory…and long life."

Regan raised her glass as well.

"Hear, hear." And she threw the drink back. It tasted horribly sweet then acidly bitter. She pulled a face and uttered a murmur of disgust, glancing up at her older sister. The smile she found there startled her a moment. Though on an aged face, it was the same triumphant smile Regan had seen when young Goneril squeezed that red tuft hair in one tightly clenched fist. "The wine tastes rancid."

The woman across from her smiled more brightly, much too happily for bitter tasting wine.

"My glass did not leave much to taste either."

Regan glanced at the empty glass beside her sister and her stomach churned again.

"Would you like another?" Goneril tilted her head to one side and motioned vaguely toward Regan's half-filled glass.

"No," Regan cleared her suddenly scratchy throat. "No, we should return to the field."

The world tilted dangerously when she stood and Goneril appeared at Regan's elbow.

"My, my, one little sip and you're completely intoxicated. No wonder you always left my galas so early."

"Oh no, that was only because I was too embarrassed for all your stepping on other gentlemen's toes."

Regan smiled stupidly at herself and the two sisters laughed together as they walked out onto the grounds.

The tent walls were moving much worse than before as they hurried back—shadows lurched and light danced across Regan's eyes. She gripped at her stomach from the vertigo, but Goneril said nothing about this blatant ill-mannered action, when her fretting attentions earlier had been fussier over the littlest blush.

The sudden push from Goneril nearly sent Regan crashing to the ground. She stumbled and caught herself, watching her older sibling's imperious stalk through the main thoroughfare that led to the meeting place for the royals. Regan shook her head, loose strands of red hair fell into her eyes, but her head cleared at the action. Following her sister's rigid back through the grass some ten paces behind, she wondered how they had gone from laughing and conversing to a cold detachment.

The world righted itself and the dizzy spell passed as Regan continued on past the grand tents. She spotted Albany a moment later approaching his wife; he appeared disheveled at her unexplained absence, but she merely brushed him off with a flippant wave of her hand and they spoke no more. He signaled the summons for the soldiers and a horn blast rose. Regan hurried to catch up to her sister and brother-in-law as the drum of armored feet caught up with her.

Her heart leapt as she saw Edmund awaiting them. He was more handsome than ever as he stood before them all—an army General. He smiled when he saw her and she thought her heart might burst, but instead her stomach gave another wicked lurch. That wine had been truly rotten; she feared she might lose her stomach before her beloved…all over the grass.

"At last you've come. I wondered if you would leave me to plan the war myself." Edmund's soft brown eyes smiled. Regan unconsciously bit her lower lip, blissfully unaware of her older sister's smoldering glare. Another man cut across her vision and she snapped out of the dreamy reverie.

Her eyes flickered momentarily to Albany as he accepted a note from one of his subordinates. He began to unfurl the letter, but Edmund cut across him.

"Sir, the battle approaches."

The cacophony of clashing swords and shields, of shrieking arrows and dying screams seemed to spiral out from the crimson splashed field in unnerving continuity. The battle was not long-lived when compared to some of Britain's finer wars, but it lasted much too long for Regan's taste. Still, she and her army and her sister's army had risen victorious out of the fog to driving back the French forces—and what was better—the King had been found and captured. To make the pastry even sweeter, her little sister had been captured as well. She had never felt much love toward her overbearing father, the crusted old shell of a man whom had never shown her the same affections toward her as he did her adoring, fuzzy-headed little sister. So to have them both in her possession was a prize for the taking.

She would deal them each a righteous punishment for years of neglect.

Even sweeter on Regan's tongue, was her soon to be marriage to Edmund, as he had equally professed his love for her. For _her_, not her older sister. Finally, there was some justice in the world. Finally, she would have would was so rightly deserving of her.

Celebrations were short lived as she, her sister, and her sister's husband regrouped with Edmund.

"Ah! There you are!" he greeted them all enthusiastically. "I am proud to say that Lear has been captured."

Albany was first to voice his discontent as he came upon the younger man.

"Have you no respect for the old King?"

Edmund appeared taken aback, but recovered and replied with a chilling coolness. "What is there left to respect?"

"You are no ally of mine." Albany made a slicing motion with one hand as though to sever his ties with the young man that instant.

"Peace, Albany." Regan came forward, ignoring the twist in her stomach that had intensified since her initial illness. "Edmund has served us well to deflect the French armies. Had he not fought with us, I fear we may have lost many of our number." She looked over to Edmund and stepped toward him. "I would trust him with my armies, with my title…with my life and my love."

Regan gripped at her stomach in pain, the knotting was growing worse, like a large stone had been placed there. Her throat was too dry and her heartbeat was pounding behind her eyes. Goneril appeared beside her sister, bristling, and her voice venomous.

"What are you saying, sister? That you would have him for your own?"

Regan turned her head to glare at her sister, lashing out in her fury and pain.

"Yes! I would have him for myself." Then she continued more softly, as she glanced back at her heart's content. "Yes, I ask after you Edmund, if you would have me."

His expression on her was of mild surprise as his eyes flickered between each of the sisters.

"I think you speak too freely, _sister_." Goneril snarled close to Regan's ear, and the latter wanted to swat at her sibling for such haughty arrogance, but her insides were alight with fire and she gripped at them again.

"Ooh…sick…" Regan murmured, her eyes tearing.

"Have you forgotten Cornwall so easily?" Goneril continued to needle at her younger sister with soft, cruel precision. "You would lie with another man directly after the death of your own faithful husband?" Regan glared again at her sister out of the corner of her eye, her limbs now trembling to control the agony roaring in her midsection; this personal battle would have to end, but oh, how she _ached!_

Fortunately, she was saved having to respond when Albany spoke, eyeing his wife.

"If Regan chooses this man to be her intended that is her decision. Though I am unsure he is as trustworthy as he claims. If I recall correctly, Gloucester had another son, a legitimate son. Let the trumpet sound to prove you worthy of your title and I shall bless the marriage myself, but if your claims prove to be false then you die where you stand."

"You wouldn't dare!" Goneril seethed at her husband. Regan felt her stomach jerk hideously and bile rose in her throat, but she choked it back as best as she could. The scene before her was fading in and out of focus and the edges of her vision were tinted black.

"Sir, I am a man of honor, it is not in my nature to deceive." Edmund motioned to himself and gave a courteous bow, but Albany would not be swayed.

"Then let sound the trumpet! Surely you have nothing to fear?" Albany returned viciously. "A herald! Bring me a herald!"

"I feel so ill…" Regan gasped, her small voice seeming only to be heard by Albany, who took instant action for her welfare by calling upon his guard.

"Take her to my tent, see that she is cared for."

She murmured her thanks to him and leaned heavily on the guard when one came forward. She stole one last glance at the company before leaving; Albany's brow slanted in concern, Edmund's gaze was hard on Albany, and her sister had a horrible smile curling the edges of her lips and a triumphant gleam in dark brown her eyes. Regan's heart dropped into her already churning stomach and the sickness gripped her once more as the guard turned her away from the royal assembly; away from her brother-in-law, from her dearest love, and her smiling sister.

Twenty paces from Albany's tent, Regan was too paralyzed to walk and the soldier was forced to carry her for the remainder of the journey. The man laid her out on a cot, unsure of what to do. He offered her all manner of food and drink to fetch, perhaps even a glass of wine…

The woman's eyes widened as she stared upward from her cot, seeing beyond the ceiling of the tent into an inauspicious future. Images of Goneril handing her the glass of wine flashed through Regan's mind. Regan's deep red drink and Goneril's empty glass upon the table; then that conquering smile afterward. She mouthed one portentous word.

_Wine._

The wine had been poisoned.

Her sister's toast rang through her ears, deafening her.

_To a glorious victory…_

The pain was overwhelming now and Regan's entire body gave a violent shudder. A shout rose above her and useless noise as people hovered above her, having no means to help her but to dig a final resting place. Fire spread through her limbs and her throat constricted. She could no longer breathe; the world around her was going dark, silent. With one last exhale, she closed her eyes on the vision of her oldest sister smiling as she kissed a filled wine glass.

_And long life._

* * *

**Author's Note: Whoa, what to say about this one? I've lost my mind for writing a fanfiction on one of Shakespeare's plays? I wrote a story that was uncut (with no break between events)? I chose to wrote for the crazy character? _Shakespeare!? _Yes, well, it was actually for a school project and it technically is fanfiction so I thought I'd give it a post! It was unusually difficult to write because I tried to remain as true to the play as possible, while reworking dialogue to modern day English (mostly) and building up a scene I had to decipher for myself...but it was still a fun piece to write. I love my insane, vengeful characters; those are the most fun to write for!**

**Haha, I won't lie, I did get tripped up in places, but mostly from translating Shakespeare into my brain and making all the events in the story happen. I wanted to write for all three sisters too and I might get around to it eventually; Goneril is super evi and Cordelia is the sweet innocent, but Regan just appealed to me for some reason, even if her actions in the play are detestable. The poison thing just kept itching my mind, I kept thinking that was the scene I would write, and low and behold...I did!**

**So I realize this story will probably be RARELY frequented--so any who actually made it to the end, _please_ drop me a review! Is this any good or should I burn and bury it somewhere dark and cold?**

**Thank to all, or any, who read!**

**Blackfire 18**


End file.
